Money and Martyrdom

by bed of nails and sandpaper

Yamato left Japan, hoping for a new life in America. But, after five years of living without a family he decides to come home, not realising that the problems he left behind have been waiting for him. AU Taito, Takari and other pairings

5. Chapter 5

I know all this font changing is confusing, but sadly I'm not entirely fluent in Japanese and it would be rather difficult translating all this text not only for myself but for you guys as well so, effective as of this chapter...

While in America: Bold text is for people speaking in Japanese

While in Japan: Bold text is for people speaking in English

Italics is usually reserved for author notes and the occasional flashback or something. So, anyway, the bold in this chapter is supposed to be Japanese.

Enjoy the new chapter

Money and Martyrdom

---

He hadn't worn a suit in what seemed like years, and Yamato found himself more sensitive than usual to the restrictions of the jacket that he'd buttoned up hastily. He straightened his shirt collar and brushed the hair out of his face while, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the numbers on the digital clock flash and change to read 8:13.

"Shit. I'm going to be late!"

He said to himself, but he spoke loud enough for his roommate in the other room, sipping his morning coffee, to hear him.

Yamato quickly grabbed his scrappy cotton bag that leant against the wall and shovelled into it the papers and essentials that lay strewn across his desk. Had he been more organised he probably would have invested in a smarter bag to match the suit that he wore. He realised that mistake when he looked in the mirror for the last time and clearly noticed how the patchy grey bag counteracted with the impression he was trying to make by wearing such professional clothes.

He waved away his worry. Deciding that he had no time to dwell on the problem any longer he dashed out of his bedroom, grabbing his bike helmet and leathers on the way.

Ken, who sat at the island in their kitchen, swallowed his mouthful of coffee and looked to Yamato who was struggling to fit into his bike wear.

"I told you that you should have set your alarm for seven."

He bragged and straightened out the newspaper on the counter top. Yamato flicked his head to get the hair out of his eyes and gave Ken a frustrated glare.

"Be quiet! Your job is to reassure me, not put me down! Now, tell me that I look smart and sophisticated and that I will most definitely get the job."

Ken took a break from his reading to give Yamato a swoop over with his eyes. The older man looked so different in a suit. He hadn't gelled up his hair into his usual messy style, opting to let it flow freely since it was too short to put into a pony tail or pin back. Several shades of blonde hung around his face and brushed over the high collar of the button up shirt, looking bright and soft in comparison to the heavy charcoal jacket. Ken had helped him pick out the suit and he was glad now that they didn't buy a tie. It wouldn't have suited him. The shirt alone looked as though it was choking the man, no matter how loose the collar fitted around the slender neck.

Ken reached for his coffee and chuckled into his mug before replying.

"You look smart, and if you don't mess up then you will most likely get the job."

Yamato zipped the protective leather jacket over his suit and rolled his eyes.

"Thanks. Do you want me to cook you dinner or are you going to be late tonight?"

"I'll probably be late. But it'd be nice if you could save me some leftovers."

"Alright, I'll save you a plate. See you later."

With bag and helmet in hand he sprinted out of the apartment, leaving enough time for Ken to call out a final 'good luck' before the door was slammed shut.

He bounded in pairs the set of stairs to the parking lot and dashed over to his bike, slipping on his helmet while he jogged. His Kawasaki W650waited for him obediently in its usual parking space in the lot. Although no vehicle could ever replace the treasure that was his first car, his bike came in a close second. It was his key to the busy city. Journeys were cut in half when he could weave around traffic with ease and fit into the tightest of parking spaces. It was one of the first things he'd bought when he arrived in the country, after his main priority of finding a place to stay. Straddling his crimson and steel steed he kicked off the stand and pushed off onto the maze of roads.

It had been a while since he'd had a proper job interview, or even a proper job for that matter. It wasn't just the speed of the bike that was making his stomach flop and his forehead moisten. Nerves set in once again. He didn't have any answers prepared for their questions or any decided song ideas for when they asked for a demonstration. He only had a few crumpled copies of his résumé nestled in the bag on his shoulders, and a pricey suit that he hoped would compensate for his short comings that were quickly seeming quite numerous.

His interest in the job wasn't entirely because of the pleasing paycheque he'd receive at the end of it. Money hadn't been an issue for a long time. He had a collection of regular gigs and even got a fair amount of requests for him to play at some popular clubs and bars. But this was a job opportunity that he couldn't ignore. He didn't specifically know what the pay was; only that it would be enough to buy him that sexy amp set he'd been lusting after, and a chance to start setting up his own shows in proper venues. Just the mental image of a lit up stage and his own backup musicians was more than enough to motivate him to send off his application and just about enough to risk humiliating himself in front of several highly prestigious and wealthy businessmen.

There was no time to go to a toilet to change out of his protective gear when he arrived in front of the extravagant hotel. He hobbled across the pavement and into the lobby, unzipping the layers of leather and struggling out of them as he reached the reception desk.

"Excuse me, I was called here for an interview with Frank Lanely, I'm Yamato Ishida."

He tucked his helmet under his arm as he spoke to the uniformed receptionist. As an employee in such an esteemed hotel her pay was handsome enough for her to almost look genuinely pleased to help him. With a smile she looked at a few papers at her desk and nodded when she found the information needed.

"Okay, Mr Lanely is in the main hall just to the left. You can go right on in, he should be waiting for you."

"Thank you."

He folded his leathers into his bag as he walked across the lobby, gaping in awe at the lavishness of the building. He donated all of his attention to marvelling at the textured ceiling designs, the polished marble flooring, the paintings with gold leaf frames, the silver and glass lamps on the wall that lit the way to his destination and all the other luxurious decorations. He was far too entranced to feel intimidated by the splendour of the establishment. But he did unconsciously pull at his bag upon the realisation of how very out of place he was.

The main hall was just as amazing. The hall was bare while there were no functions planned, leaving a naked space nearly three times the size of his whole apartment, all covered with a rich smelling, varnished oak floor. There in the far corner, beside a sleek black grand piano, was one table and a few chairs where currently sat was one man in a suit. The sound of Yamato's shoes tapping across the wooden floor was what alerted the stranger of Yamato's presence, and the man raised himself from his chair to greet him.

"Ah, Ishida, I presume."

The two men met halfway across the majestic hall and Yamato quickly absorbed the man's appearance before answering. His obviously expensive suit was immaculately pressed, his face clean shaven down to the very roots and the sides of his dark hair showed traces of maturing grey. Overall he looked very much like an experienced, self driven and self assured type of person. Yamato felt very young in his presence. He found himself stuttering as he took the stranger's hand that was offered to him.

"Y-Yes. I'm Yamato Ishida."

"I'm Frank Lanely, the manager of the hotel."

His hand was steady and as he shook Yamato's sweating limb in a highly professional manner. Gathering his bearings Yamato managed to bring up a smile.

"Nice to meet you. Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity."

The man laughed at Yamato's nervous attempt at formality and Yamato unsteadily laughed at himself as well.

"I've heard good things about you. You're not American, are you? You have an accent."

Yamato cleared his throat and tried to form his next sentence without being distracted by how conscious he was of his own accent. He spoke slowly.

"No, I'm originally from Japan."

"Japan? Really? You don't look very..."

Lanely chose to finish his sentence with hand gestures rather than words, avoiding saying anything that may seem offensive or stereotypical. He meant to refer to Yamato's light features.

"My grandfather is French. I suppose I get some of my features from him."

"How exotic. Anyway, the other interviewers will be here momentarily, so for now how about we look at your résumé? Please, take a seat."

He led Yamato over to the table where he had been originally sitting and took a seat across from him. He already had his own printed copy of Yamato's résumé laid out in front of him in a condition that seemed untouched; no dog-eared corners like the several versions that Yamato was keeping in his bag. Yamato dropped his bag between his legs and brushed down his suit while his interviewer hummed and nodded while reading over again what was written. Yamato's entire worth was summarised in a page of bullet points, names and phone numbers.

Lanely rested his arm across the table after a while and his eyes continued tracing the information on the paper while he spoke.

"I have to say that your qualifications are...very different from our other applicants. No degree in music or certified grades. But, you were the youngest I've seen to teach music."

"Well, I didn't have the...financial resources to professionally study music. Most of what I know is self taught."

As soon as he'd spoken he bit his lips shut. It was good to be honest to employers but, was it necessary information to reveal? Did it sound like he was making excuses for himself? Would Lanely have questioned him further if he'd held back information? Yamato seemed to second guess every other word that came out of his mouth. He sat in silence for another moment after Lanely nodded at his answer and turned back to reading the page before him. Lanely then said with an air of indifference

"Sounds to me like you have an admiral enthusiasm, coming so far all by yourself."

Yamato hesitated and tilted his head away, uncertain how to analyse what he'd just heard. Was that a compliment? It sounded like a compliment. Were interviewers allowed to give compliments? Surely that betrayed some sort of confidentiality rule about their opinions. He decided to let it go and take it for what it was; a nice thing to hear during a time where his confidence was wavering, even if it wasn't intended to be that way.

"Thank you, sir. I think that you are the first to think so."

"For your sake you best hope that my colleagues think so as well."

The sound of the door opening was louder than they'd both expected, obviously being forced open harder than necessary by the newcomers. Yamato flinched and turned to see two more men in suits approaching them across the hall.

"And I believe they have just arrived."

Lanely stood up to greet them and Yamato did the same.

"Gentlemen, this is Yamato Ishida, our young applicant for today. Yamato this is John Novak, the event organiser, and Michael Hanes, the host."

Yamato took his cue to step forward once he was gestured to. He almost made the mistake of bowing; the traditional custom for a formal meeting in Japan. But he stopped himself and tried his best to mask the tilt of his body.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, and thank you for giving me your time."

He offered his hand to first Hanes and then Novak, who both shook it firmly and curtly. Hanes gave almost a smile, but it was buried beneath the several layers of wrinkles on his face.

"It's not a problem."

They all gathered around the table and Yamato passed out the spare crumpled copies of his résumé from his cotton bag. They talked for a while about what Yamato had written down; his experience of performing, his experience in other jobs, he repeatedly explained the reason for his lack of tuition and he also had to explain that he was indeed fluent in English and that there was a very low chance that there would be a difficulty in communicating. They seemed rather nervous about his foreign heritage.

"Alright then Yamato just set yourself up on that piano over there and we'll start talking to you about the job."

Yamato nervously edged over to the piano stool and ran his hands gently enough across the piano keys to not make any sound. Hanes silently observed him with an attentive eye until Yamato was comfortably seated. The elder man then straightened out the résumé on the table before him with a graceful hand before speaking.

"Since you knew about this job opportunity I'm assuming you have an agent."

Yamato anxiously folded the material over his knee and forced himself to keep eye contact.

"Actually it was recommended to me by a friend, Willis Boller[1]. He came to one of my performances and told me about the job."

Lanely jumped to Yamato's defence as soon as Hanes's face began to sour, more for his own sake to defend his reasons for putting forward such a novice as a candidate.

"Mr Boller has helped to organise quite a few music events in the hotel and is known for his good taste. He recommended Yamato as a candidate and spoke quite highly of him to me, so I allowed him to apply for the job."

Hanes held his eyes with Lanely's for a moment before turning back to Yamato with a blank face.

"Okay then. Do you know much about the events?"

"I was briefed shortly."

Hanes's demeanour brightened, receiving joy from the opportunity to talk about his plans.

"Well, these four dinners are annual events and traditional for my family's company. There are going to be a lot of prestigious international guests and important political figures attending so I'm looking for high quality and someone dependable. Now, I don't want to limit your creativity, so you may choose the style of music and what songs you want to play. The band will accommodate you and schedule some rehearsals before each dinner. But I just want to warn you now that I have sat through over fifteen renditions of Frank Sinatra this week alone and I'm very quickly getting very sick of 'elevator jazz'."

When he finished speaking he leaned back in his seat with crossed arms, smirking at Yamato's nervous expression.

"So, start playing when you're ready."

Yamato nodded and gave himself a second to take in all that was said while he held his hands poised over the keys. Hanes's last statement had knocked his confidence a little. He had arrived with a vague idea of what he might play, but the slight possibility of it sounding like 'elevator jazz' had forced him to second guess himself. On the positive side of things, it actually felt quite nice to have a bit of a challenge set for him. It made him want to be a bit more adventurous with his choice of song.

In his mind thousands of sheets of music and song melodies were scattered about, falling from the sky, lining the walls, and he desperately searched through all of them for the perfect song; something that would describe him; something that would flatter his skills; something that would surprise them.

His fingers fell into place over the ivory before he'd even fully made up his mind, and they dropped effortlessly into the first chord. He freed his mind's hold over his other hand as well and it did much the same. The song didn't require his usual delicacy, and the melody rang out in the hall. He was improvising for the introduction, having not fully transcribed the song into piano music, and he worried that the men didn't recognise it or that they thought that he was doing an injustice to it by attempting to cover it.

He licked his lips, unconsciously reminding himself that he had an 'accent' and that this was a seriously risky song to attempt. But he damned himself to try it anyway. There was no microphone to sing into and he wasn't facing his audience enough to engage with them. So, he pretended they weren't there to feel more comfortable with performing. He sang as though he were singing to himself while he let his fingers soften on the keys. His voice left him in a seductive sigh over the quieter tones of the piano.

"Got a black magic woman."

Only he could hear the strutting fingers over the strings of a bass guitar, the tapping of the high hat that sounded like raindrops pattering on a tin roof or the gallop of hands over the skin of the tabla. All such seductive sounds that made his whole body throb in synch with the beat. His whole body arched into the music and swayed into each chord.

"I've got a black magic woman.

"I've got a black magic woman; got me so blind I can't see

"that she's a black magic woman, she's trying to make a devil out of me."

He closed his eyes and allowed his voice to slip from him, reminding his listeners of black silk. Each word would slip down from his lips like dark, sweet, rich syrup. Had anyone less professional or critical been listening to him they would surely blush at the seductive tone of his voice. But the men he performed for watched with straight faces while he executed the musical equivalent of a strip tease for them. He hunched his body into piano to dynamically charge the next few chords.

"Don't turn your back on me, baby.

"Don't turn your back on me, baby.

"Yes, don't turn your back on me, baby, don't mess around with your tricks.

"Don't turn your back on me, baby, 'cause you might just wake up my magic sticks"

He improvised what he could on the piano; adding trills, changing the tempo. The song didn't so much describe him, but describe his style; the seductive side of his personality that he worked into his music, and the passion that music evoked from him that bordered on being sexual. He'd completely forgotten that he was even being watched, allowing him to free himself enough to not be embarrassed by his erotic music. To build up during the last verse he lightened his fingers on the keys and lowered his voice to a soft groan.

"Got your spell on me, baby.

"You got your spell on me, baby.

"Yes, you got your spell on me, baby. You're turning my heart into stone.

"I need you so bad, magic woman, I can't leave you alone[2]."

His crescendo wasn't perfect, but this performance wasn't just about showing off his skills, it was about technique and the ability to 'perform' instead of just play well. Ishida Yamato was nothing if not a showman. He managed to make any mistake look purposeful; every croak in his voice could be mistaken for his raw emotion.

The song ended dramatically with his voice echoing throughout the hall and his hands sliding off of the keys to let the finally chord ride on the air. His chest heaved after the intensity of his performance and once silence returned he stood up with the feeling of having...exposed himself to these strangers. He felt embarrassed but tried his best to feign confidence as he straightened his suit and coughed the strain out from his vocal chords.

His audience allowed him a second to recover while they too gathered themselves. The professional air returned to the room and Hanes crossed his leg in his chair with a blank nod. To be more specific, the professional air had been present in the room the whole time. The issue was simply that Yamato hadn't noticed it while caught up in his performance. At this moment he was highly conscious of the seriousness of his audience. Hanes especially was looking critically at Yamato while he stood before them as a different man from the one that was so passionately performing for them only a moment ago.

"Okay. You will hear from us in late December. The first event takes place on the 19th of January, so if you get the job then you will have enough time to sort out a suit and your music. You needn't do anything until you hear from us. Just keep your schedule free for the time being."

"Thank you very much."

For a second time Yamato almost bowed to thank them, except this time he couldn't pass it off as an accidental motion. So, when he pulled himself back to standing he just smiled with tinted cheeks and walked out from around from behind the piano.

"We'll contact you soon."

"Okay. Thank you for your time."

Yamato picked up his bag and quickly strolled to the door, feeling the tingle of his nerves settle. He released an unrestrained sigh that almost turned into a groan and hoisted his bag further onto his shoulder as he left the hall.

Behind him the three men were uncommonly silent. It was either because they had some much to say that they didn't know where to start or because there really wasn't anything that could be said. Sparing a corner glance at the men sitting either side of him, Novak was the first to break the ice with his derivative comment.

"Seems like a nice kid."

Hanes snorted and folded his hands on the table, covering the résumé that he was no longer interested in.

"He's hardly a kid at twenty eight years old."

Lanely ignored the both of them and leant back in his chair, looking at the piano and recreating Yamato's performance in his mind. He listed out loud to draw attention back to what was important about their applicant rather than his age.

"He's talented, without doubt. He has a strong voice, if not a little untrained. He's stylish with his music and confident, and with that face he'd certainly end up being a big attraction."

"Yes. There is something quite exotic about him, isn't there? He might even increase the guest count."

Hanes, ever the realist, was not swayed by Yamato's charm. He picked up the résumé again and looked over the foreign names written down.

"If we're really serious about him we're going to need a translator to confirm some of this information. I mean, he was a music tutor but he doesn't mention having a degree or licence."

"Maybe he was a private tutor."

"Or maybe he's lying. The only thing we have as a judge of ability is the short performance we received."

"We only privately advertised the job, right? So if he was recommended for an interview then he must be good."

Lanely once again jumped in to save the decision he'd made to offer their time to an untrained musician.

"Yes. It wasn't just Boller that spoke highly of him. I recall one of my clients having attended one of his performances as well."

Hanes flicked his wrist to take a glance at his watch and stood up from his chair.

"We will continue this discussion another time. Right now, I have another matter to deal with."

Novak, like a trained dog, followed Hanes obediently with no gesture spared to Lanely who held in his seat. The seated man offered no goodbye to them either, keeping his eyes on the piano stool that had been occupied by such an intriguing man not too long ago.

---

Yamato dropped his shitty cotton bag by the door along with his helmet and released a long, tired yet satisfied, sigh. He was filled with a sense of relief. The world was now shut out and he was back in his comfort zone; no ties, no wrist watches, no marbled floors or textured wallpaper in sight. Leaning against the door he let a smile grace his lips. He'd done well to not completely humiliate himself. At least, that was his opinion. He wouldn't know for sure until he received the fate changing call in a few weeks.

He looked around the apartment, feeling an emptiness of sorts without Ken's usual company. It wasn't as though the man made much of an impression in the household. He was always rather quiet and preferred to work in solitude. But without him the apartment seemed to have a lack of life; something that had always made Yamato feel a bit uneasy. Before he could feel too lonely though, Butter made herself known by rubbing her head against his ankles, asking for her evening meal. With a grateful smile Yamato lifted her gently and tucked her into his neck while he made his way through the apartment.

To feel a bit more at home he turned on every light switch that he passed as he walked down the hall towards the living room and kitchen, and he turned on the television to a low volume as well to aggravate the heavy silence. In the lush apartment he was so lucky to afford the walls were quite thick. This was thought to be a good thing when he remembered all of the uncomfortable or disturbing noises he would hear through the walls of his first apartment in America. But it was also a little upsetting that the nights felt so completely dead when he couldn't catch the comforting sounds of the world being awake.

Yamato set his bike keys in the bowl by the kitchen door and filled Butter's bowl with her dinner before he went about planning his own. He pulled out what food he could find in the kitchen and set it all on the counter, trying to improvise some kind of recipe. He had yet to realise it, but since he met Ken he was always taking the other man's tastes into consideration when thinking of what to cook, even if Ken didn't want any dinner that evening.

After chopping his vegetables and meats he filled a heated pan with oil on the stove and set to making some kind of spontaneous stir fry. He almost dropped the spatula when the sound of the phone ringing knocked all current thoughts of spices and seasonings out of his head. He looked at his food sizzling in the pan and quickly debated whether it would be safe to leave it cooking while he answered. He ended up resting the spatula on the edge of the pan and turned down the heat before reaching for the phone attached to the kitchen wall.

"Hello, Yamato speaking."

He cheerily answered and tucked the phone into his shoulder while he washed his hands.

"Oh, hello. Is this Ishida Yamato?"

Yamato almost dropped the phone into the sink. He recognised the language from the first word but he didn't recognise the voice. This was a woman's voice. With his hands still soaking wet he gripped the phone.

"Y-Yes. Who is this?"

He tried to analyse their voice as quickly as possible, trying to determine whether he knew them or not. He turned off the stove all together.

"My name is Watanabe Mitsuki. I am Watanabe Shou's wife."

He loosened his grip on the phone. The name Watanabe brought him comfort; it stood for ally. Although suspicion was roused when he questioned why he wasn't receiving a phone call from Watanabe-san himself.

"O-Oh. Hello. How can I help you?"

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this over the phone, but you understand that I can't necessarily come to you personally."

Her tone was worrying. He could already guess what she was going to say next.

"My husband passed away last night."

Yamato felt a ghostly hand reach down his throat and grab his heart. The semi permeable fingers squeezed the organ that was pumping at double its normal rate and Yamato found it hard to stay standing. He leaned against the counter and wrapped his free arm around his midsection, coiling in on himself.

"Oh...I...I'm so sorry. What was...h-how did he...uh..."

He was grateful that she interrupted. He didn't think he could have finished that sentence even if he had all the time in the world.

"He passed away in his sleep. I'm sorry to have to tell you this way."

"No, no, I understand completely. Thank you for calling me. He was a good friend to me."

"I'm organising a service in Tokyo around the end of December but the date is undecided. I'm sorry for it being so late but he knew so many people it's becoming impossible to gather them all in one place. You're not obligated to come but you would be welcomed there."

"I'll try my best."

"Let me give you my number. If you have any troubles getting a flight then don't hesitate to call. I'd be more than happy to help."

"Thank you so much, but that won't be necessary."

"Well take my number anyway. You can call me to confirm whether you're coming or not."

"Alright."

He abandoned the kitchen completely to find a pen and wrote down the number on the back page of a magazine on the coffee table.

"Thank you so much Watanabe-san. My thoughts go out to you and your family."

"Thank you. I hope to hear from you soon."

He hung up the phone when he heard her pull away from the speaker. He dropped it onto the sofa before dropping his body next to it. From the kitchen the smell of his dinner began to thin as the food cooled on the stove and he found it to be much less appetising as it was when he was cooking it. He wiped away a sweat that had gathered at his hairline.

"Kuso[3]."

He mumbled, looking at the phone that had fallen towards him on the sofa. He wanted it to ring. He wanted someone to want to talk to him. But who was there left? What true friends did he really have left?

Shaking his head he picked the silent phone back up and headed to the kitchen to put it back in its cradle. The patting sound of Butter's tongue lapping at her food reassured Yamato that he wasn't completely alone, offering small comfort. The food on the stove no longer looked as appetising. The colours of the meats looked all wrong, the vegetables looked soggy instead of soft and the sauce looked gloopy and thick. Dinner didn't seem like a good idea any more, but he knew that he had to finish cooking it if not for Ken's sake. But, Ken wouldn't be home until late. He had enough time to start again.

He picked up his bike keys intent on buying more supplies more for his own sake than for the sake of his dinner.

---

Ken tucked his thumb under the strap of his laptop case to straighten it out on his shoulder. It had gotten inconveniently twisted on his journey up the stairs to the apartment. The first thing he noticed when he reached the apartment was the light that leaked out from the crease beneath the front door. Usually when he came home this late the apartment was too quiet to even home ghosts.

He slipped in quietly and pushed the door slowly shut, thinking that maybe Yamato had fallen asleep on the sofa. He called out softly to check.

"Yamato?"

"Ken? I'm in the living room."

Ken jumped when he received an answer from Yamato who sounded completely awake. It was now that he noticed the sound of the television as well. He abandoned his cautious entrance into the apartment and kicked off his shoes by the door before finding the living room. Yamato sat slouched so deeply into the sofa it looked as though it was chewing on him. A lazy hand was kneading Butter's neck. His eyes were blank as he stared past an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels on the coffee table to the TV where some typical late night trash was showing. Ken lowered his laptop to the floor and watched the lights from the television flicker over Yamato's tired face.

"You're still up? It's two a.m."

"Sorry. I was just about to go to bed actually."

Yamato aimed the TV control weakly and switched off the screen, but he didn't make any move to get up. Ken looked at the liquor bottle on the table and noted the price sticker that was still stuck to its side. It had obviously been bought not too long ago, and that was a bad sign.

"Have you been drinking tonight?"

Butter scampered off when she felt Yamato shift and decided to take a nap on her owner's bed since he wasn't using it anyway. Yamato's knees wobbled as he stood up and he realised just how long he must've been sitting there. Tingles were already beginning to set in the soles of his feet where the blood began to circulate again. He knocked against the bottle with the back of his hand as he turned to Ken.

"Oh, this? No, I haven't had any, don't worry."

"So what's wrong? You bought this today, right?"

"Yeah."

Yamato nodded quietly and scratched his shoulder. Ken almost assumed that Yamato had finished talking if it weren't for the stricken glance that those blue eyes aimed at him every few seconds. So, he rested his hands on the back of his sofa and waited until Yamato eventually rolled his neck and spoke.

"I just found out that my friend died yesterday."

Ken's eyes widened and he quickly circled the sofa towards Yamato. He wrapped his arm around Yamato's shoulder and led him back into his seat. He didn't really know what he was doing. He just heard the word "died" and took it as his cue to comfort his friend, even if Yamato didn't necessarily look like he needed comfort.

"Okay, sit here and calm down."

He sat down next to Yamato and put his hand on his knee. Yamato's blank stare returned and stayed aimed constantly at the inactive television screen while he spoke.

"I am calm. It hasn't sunk in yet. I bought the alcohol for when it did sink in, but, as you can see, I haven't opened it yet. I've just been...kind of numb since I heard about it."

Ken could see that Yamato was frustrated with himself. His friend wore down at the skin around his nails with his teeth aggressively, and Ken remembered how bad he was at comforting people. It wasn't that he didn't know what to do. He just didn't have the confidence to execute the method in his mind. So, for a while, he just let his radiating body temperature provide a comforting presence to Yamato, who was happy to bite his fingers in silence with a blank mind. But, eventually, he thought it best to strike up some kind of conversation just to prove to his self that Yamato was still alive after being so silent and still for so long.

"How'd your interview go?"

Yamato dropped his hand from his mouth in surprise.

"Huh?"

"The interview you had at the hotel. How did it go?"

"Oh...that...it went pretty well I think, but they're looking for a really specific style of musician so I can't be sure if I got the gig or not. Oh, and the guy thought I was 'exotic' as opposed to funny-looking, which is a nice change of pace."

Yamato's laugh was low and soft; not at all sincere and he didn't try to make it sound sincere either. He just used it as a lazy way to punctuate the humour in his words and draw away from the overall depressive foundation. Ken took it as it was and just nodded his head when he couldn't think of a comment. Enough times he'd tried to convince Yamato that his ethnic traits were beautiful, but all effort was lost when his compliments could not compare in amount to insults from strangers. He didn't enjoy the company of this brooding Yamato. He noticed every time Yamato's eyes would dart to the bottle on the table, so eventually he grabbed the neck of it as though he truly hoped to choke the bottle and stood up.

"How about we switch that alcohol for some tea?"

Yamato rubbed at his eyes, awoken from some kind of trance once the bottle was moved from his sight, and stood up.

"Yeah, sure. If I haven't started drinking yet I probably won't at all."

"Why don't you sit down for a while? I'll go make the tea."

"Please, I've been sitting down for hours. I'm grieving, not crippled."

They followed each other into the kitchen and leaned against the countertop while they waited for the water to boil. Ken put the bottle into the usual cupboard for alcohol while Yamato set about preparing a more sobering type of drink. Mugs and tea bags were set aside and they stood staring at the floor with the sound of bubbling water softening the silence. Ken looked up when he heard the click of the kettle.

"So, who was this person?"

He asked while he poured the water into the mugs. Yamato watched as the water filtered through the teabags and changed the colour to an earthy green. It didn't look attractive within the sunshine yellow mug, but the steam moistened his face when he leant over it and the warm smell of dandelion drew him to pick up the mug and take the smallest of sips.

"He's just an older guy that imparted some of his wisdom onto me. He's the one that you answered the phone to. The Japanese guy."

He mumbled against the scalding liquid that washed against his lips like the sea against the edge of a boat.

"Yeah, I remember that. Is there a service?"

"Yeah...in Tokyo after Christmas sometime. There's no set date yet. I need to think about whether I'm going to go or not."

"Why?"

Yamato almost answered, but he stopped himself. If he started talking about it then Ken would be stuck having to listen for about half an hour. It wasn't worth it. Besides, the reasons that he had weren't good reasons. They were selfish, unfair and irrational in some cases. They made him think that he was a bad person. Who else would abandon all the people that love him and avoid them even when the perfect opportunity to reunite presented itself?

He shook his head and took a gulp from his mug now that the tea had cooled down a bit.

"There are lots of reasons."

He mumbled, and wrapped an arm around his midsection. A swarm of dark thoughts had returned to him at the thought of returning to Japan. Of course he missed his home, but he mainly missed the old life that he'd had, where he had an attentive lover, a carefree little brother, and nothing to worry about but getting good grades and fitting in time for his music. That old life was dead and could never be reborn. It made him want all the more to forget where he'd come from and just pretend that he was born alone into the world.

Ken didn't pry, and both of them were satisfied with that. He knew nothing of the complicated life Yamato had lead before they'd met. He only knew of the exotic stranger that blew into his life and made it a little less lonely.

The next exchange between them was wishings of a good night's sleep before they both retreated to their rooms. Ken had forgotten about the foil wrapped leftovers that Yamato had prepared for him. There was more than enough considering Yamato hadn't eaten that night.

---

He had to remind himself that the ceiling wasn't really moving. It was just a hallucination. But the way he saw the concrete bulge out like mice under a rug stopped him from closing his eyes let alone sleep. Taichi was certain he hadn't taken any drugs. There had definitely been a lot of drinking in on his part, but nothing that would make him see things like this. Maybe that cigarette that was offered to him was laced with something, or maybe while he was kissing that girl on his lap someone had dropped something in his drink.

He didn't have to look at the clock again to know that he'd been lying on his bed for about two hours, trying to get to sleep. He could feel his eyelids twitch whenever he tried to close them, and getting comfortable was impossible when he discovered a new itch on his body every few seconds. He'd tossed and turned enough to throw the covers onto the floor and tangle himself in the bed sheets.

The feeling of slowly decomposing as time passed was experienced throughout his whole body. He thought that he could feel the deterioration of his leg and arm muscles, and his mouth and eyes slowly dried up. He smacked his lips in attempt to gather some saliva and felt his rough, dry tongue scratch against the equally dry roof of his mouth. When he coughed he felt like he might hack up dust. Even when he breathed in he imagined that he might hear a creaking sound from the dry efforts of his throat.

Bumping his hand, head and hip against the bedside table, Taichi weakly rolled off of the bed, taking a moment to collect his strength while he rested his head against the carpet. He was sensitive to every sound, including the rustling of the carpet as he desperately dug his fingers into its threads. Eventually, after reaching his limit of dust inhalation, he grabbed the table that had previously offended him and used it to help him stand. The prospect of a cold glass, or gallon, of water motivated him towards the door. But, in his hurry, he was unprepared for the rush of light that pushed him back into his dark room once he'd opened the bedroom door. He shielded his stinging eyes in a remarkable impression of Dracula and swung back, using the door handle for stability and pulling the door along with him.

He recovered eventually, and decided against fetching his sunglasses to shield his eyes simply because he was too disoriented to successfully locate them. He cupped his hand just above his brow to escape from the bright living room light on his way to the kitchen. For the first time he thought that he understood what it must feel like to walk on water because he was currently experiencing something similar. Drunk or high, whatever the reason, it felt like there was a moving tide beneath his naked feed that was compelling him to walk slightly sideways. He kept his eyes on the floor successfully shielding them from the light and finding balance in reassuring himself that the floor wasn't moving. But, when he tripped over the edge of the sofa he realised that it was a surprisingly important factor in travelling to be able to see where he was going. He lifted his head in the assumed direction of the kitchen, and froze to grab hold of the sofa that was still in arm's reach. If he hadn't he probably would have fallen through the liquid feeling floor in shock or fear or...general disbelief in what he was looking at.

He'd thought he'd already thrown up pretty much everything in his stomach earlier, but once Taichi brought his gaze to the open door of his kitchen he knew he still had something left in his stomach because it was already crawling its way back up his throat. When he first looked at it, it was just a gradated blur of blue, white and yellow that reminded him of a badly formed blob of jelly. But with each second and every shift of his eyes it swirled like a vortex and more colours appeared and details began to form. Human features emerged from the vague smudge in his vision.

"Oh, Tai, you're awake."

Taichi swallowed the vomit and blinked, watching the vision before him waver. He was obviously having a trip. There was no way...

It wore a blue apron and had blond hair clipped up randomly away from its face. Upon its pale, glowing skin were flecks of brown that came from the large chocolate cake on the counter in front it that was presumably freshly made. It looked glossy and sweet and from the many times that he'd tasted similar creations Taichi knew that it would taste just as amazing as it looked.

The smile on the face of the creature before him was foreign. It looked...blank...like it was drawn on. There were no smile lines surrounding the peachy lips and the eyes were wide and untouched by the expression of joy from the mouth. It was the smile of a doll.

"What are you just standing there for? I made cake."

Taichi knew that he was having some kind of drug induced hallucination. With every passing second he picked up on something that wasn't right that proved to him that this design standing before him did not belong in reality. The entity before him would glitch and waver like a failing computer screen and there were little details about this person that didn't coincide with Taichi's memories. But, he still smiled when the illusion held out a hand to him.

"What kind of cake?"

He whispered through his dry throat and delicately placed his hand in the pale one. Though he imagined that he could feel the calluses and warm skin of the hand that he held, the limb offered no support to him when he stumbled over his lazy feet. The mirage laughed melodically and a piece of shining hair fell down from the collection of clips to hang over empty blue eyes.

"Chocolate cake as usual. Nothing else seems to satisfy your sweet tooth."

The blue eyes swirled tauntingly and the colours of the figure began to merge together and crackle like static. Looking at it made Taichi feel ill. Everything was moving and changing in his world and this...thing in front of him did not help to anchor him to reality. Taichi ignored the appetising cake to approach the sink after a wave of dizziness struck him. The white wall in front of him looked like a moving bed sheet, with bodies rolling around beneath it. He didn't stare at the disturbing morphing of the scenery for too long and thrust his head under the tap, turning the cold water on at full blast. He soaked his face and hair and took huge gulps of the heavenly shower of water. It did nothing for his giddiness or the coiling feeling of his stomach, but it cooled him and at least settled the feeling of wanting to vomit.

He left the tap on and turned back around, pulling the hair from his face. The figure wasn't where it had been standing anymore, and for a moment Taichi had thought that the devil had spared him his torment.

"You feeling alright?"

During a single twitch of his eyes the being reappeared and the chocolate cake was on the opposite side of the counter. Taichi looked up at the picture. The blonde hair was a different style now; gelled up like it used to be when they were younger. And the eyes were a darker and deeper shade of blue. The smile twitched on the pale face.

"Y-Yeah...I'm just dizzy."

A laugh came from the item before him, and Taichi heard it echo in his mind. There was something that didn't sound right about it. Perhaps it was just that bit too high pitched, or too abrupt in the way that it ended. It was frustrating in that it was so close to sounding beautiful but was sharply cut too short, teasing Taichi's senses.

Without any transition between events a slice of cake was cut and held out towards him.

"Here. Taste this."

Taichi looked down at the fingers holding the delectable dessert. He didn't care about the creamy icing that melted against the soft fingers or the moist, spongy cake that crumbled over the palm. All Taichi could see were those fingers. He was used to the sight and sensation of hands that were fair, slender, graceful with alternating textures of rough and soft. These hands that offered him food were wrong and unnatural. They were pale to the point of looking deathly white. Instead of slender and elegant in their shape they were bony and sunken around the knuckles. The fingers were too long and continued to stretch out towards him. As for texture there was no way for him to discover the differences because when he dismissed all abnormalities and reached out to accept the offering he felt nothing. He watched as his hands made contact and he could see that he was able to affect this object when he was able to pull the offered hands towards him. And yet, despite his mind fooling all other senses, his sense of touch was firm in believing that there was no existing object before him to make contact with.

He played along with the games of his mind anyway, rather enjoying playing pretend. He took a bite from the image of a piece of cake before him. The illusion smiled another empty smile.

"Is it good?"

The cake had no flavour or physical structure. He'd taken a bite of air. But, Taichi still smiled and leaned towards the vision.

"The second best thing I've ever tasted."

He laughed with a saddened tone that the object did not pick up on. But it flicked its head to the side, swinging its hair that now seemed yellow instead of gold.

"Second best? But this is your favourite."

Taichi leant back against the sink when he felt himself sway. The object followed with him to keep the same distance between its chest and Taichi's. Although, it stood suddenly shorter than it had a while ago. Taichi longed to reach out and feel a warm body. But, to keep his hallucination, he knew that that was something he couldn't do. He steadied his hands on the sink behind them to stop them from moving of their own volition. Then, he looked down into the eyes below him and spoke at a volume too low for even his own ears to pick up on.

"You're my favourite."

A ghostly laugh hovered over Taichi.

"I'd say your favourite is cheesecake."

It chuckled and leaned forward to place a spectral kiss on Taichi's cheek. Taichi couldn't feel it, and it killed him unknowingly. He turned away and put a hand on his cheek where there should have been a kiss.

"How about you lie down on the sofa and I'll bring a big piece to you? You look tired."

"Yeah...Yeah, I'm...I'm tired."

Taichi lowered his eyes to the floor and desperately tried not to look up. He kept his hands on whatever surface he could as he made his way to the sofa and found that his steps were sturdier now that he was sobering up. He waddled around the wreckage that was his apartment and made sure not to look back into the kitchen lest there still be the mirage where he'd left it. If he intended to sleep he knew he had to sober up from...whatever the cause of this trip was, and he knew that in order to do that he had to make himself aware that he was hallucinating.

He fell down onto the sofa when his legs gave out halfway in slowly lowering him and looked up at the ceiling. It was still moving, just like it had done in his bedroom, only now the colours from the multitudes of stains were mixing around like running paints and dripping onto him. He couldn't feel any of it even though he could see it. He tried desperately to ignore it all and concentrate on reality. With his eyes closed he focused on the feel of the sofa, the sensation of air entering and escaping his lungs, and the sounds of the electrics in the apartment. So long as he didn't acknowledge any of the strange visions he could try and sleep.

"I love you, Taichi."

Taichi's eyes snapped open and he lurched upright as though he intended to be sick. He could see it from the corner of his eye; the shadow of the devil that stood in the doorway. It had blonde hair, blue eyes and stood gloriously glowing as though it represented the reincarnated Venus. On the other hand its expression was not serene or loving, but in pain. The blue of its eyes were jaded and moist. Intense pain twisted within Taichi with the command that he answer to the distress of the spirit, and he desperately wanted to. He longed to place a kiss on those eyes, profess his love with a relentless embrace and relinquish the burden of loneliness to this being.

Instead he grabbed the cushion on the floor and held it over his head to lie back down. He pressed it tighter to his ears for fear that the voice could reach him through the several layers of fabric but found himself at a loss to be reminded that the voice was in his head.

"I love you, Taichi."

---

Yamato smiled at his overflowing tip jar and the empty space on the bar counter where he had placed a stack of his fliers at the start of the evening. Hopefully that meant he'd be getting a good amount of business soon, and another step closer to renting a proper stage and putting on a hell of a show. He could start playing more of his own songs when he knew that he was playing for fans who might appreciate some of his own material.

He stepped off of the raised platform that represented some kind of stage. One of the remaining servers at the lounge offered him a wave as she walked past the stage towards the exit.

"Have a good night."

Yamato slid his guitar into its case and looked over his shoulder with a smile to her.

"Thanks you, too."

He clasped it shut and swung the case over his shoulder with his helmet in the other hand. He left the building with a wave to the bartender and last few customers.

Out on the road he found himself in an unusual silence. He could hear the revving of his bike through his helmet and he could hear the rushing of cars as he overtook them, but there was a foreign sense of isolation that he didn't usually have while riding his bike. It could have been because he'd spent the last few hours in a busy atmosphere with continuous conversation surrounding him, or it could have been because his mind wasn't distracted while there were fewer cars on the road to worry about. Whatever the reason, he found himself with time to think.

As he turned onto the main road he thought about what he might cook for dinner. When he got to the traffic lights he thought about the money he'd saved up for his next big set. When he rounded the corner onto a straight road he thought about the phone call he'd received not too long ago. And, soon after, Watanabe came to mind or, more specifically, his death. The bright but weathered face of his important friend came to his mind, printed within the lines on the road and reflected in the flashing of the street lights against the shop windows. Though it had been such a long time since he'd seen him, Watanabe had been a constant presence in his life since they'd met. Yamato had sent him fliers for his concerts and short notes of appreciation, and in return he'd get a phone call every month or so congratulating him on his success. Nothing felt more rewarding than Watanabe's soft voice telling him through the phone 'I'm so proud of you'. It was what helped him to fight on when he first started off in America. He'd had to deal with hecklers at dodgy bars, spend hours putting up fliers around town, live in a crappy one room apartment with a busted down door, and the whole way he'd felt Watanabe's support pushing him forward. Without his family or friends in his life, Watanabe became the lone hand that lifted him up when the world knocked him over.

And it finally kicked in; the realisation that this vital person in his life was gone. He'd never get one of those phone calls again. He'd never hear those words from that person again. He felt a sting in his eyes that he tried to ignore.

Fifty feet ahead of the cyclist, a man got out of a cab and passed his money to the driver through the window. The driver took it without a word and shuffled through his change with a sigh. The sound of a motor bike was barely detectable in the distance. He passed his customer the change distantly, thinking about the end of his shift, and pulled away from the curb just as soon as the man retracted his hand to a safe distance. He could hear the screech of his own tires but didn't hear the screech of another's. Swerving across two lanes he barely felt the nick of a wheel on his bumper, or the sound of metal scraping on gravel beneath the music on his radio. He pressed his foot down on the pedal enough to feel the floor and turned on his speaker to hear for the next pick up. In the rear mirror that the driver didn't look at, there was the reflection of a man lying on the road, and an upturned bike lying a few feet away.

Through the crack in his helmet screen Yamato watched the distorted yellow blur of the cab shrink into the distance. He had yet to take a breath after the wind had been knocked out of him. His mind was a complete blank and his body completely numb...for about ten seconds. After that he clenched his eyes clenched shut tight enough to tear the lids and gasped like a choked man.

"Chikuso![3] Ugh..."

He shakily rolled onto is back and desperately pawed at his helmet as though it were a lion's jaws clamped over his head. Every panicking breath was raw, warm and unsatisfying. When he was finally free of his helmet he dropped his head onto the road harder than he intended to, feeling the grooves of the stone dig into the back of his head, and took in big gulps of cold air. His leathers felt like they were cutting off circulation to his limbs, and he couldn't distinguish whether the sensation in his sides was pain or just incredible heat. He watched the bouncing of his own chest as he took harsh breaths. The combination of shock and fear had stolen most of the air from his lungs before he'd even hit the ground.

Over the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, Yamato could hear voices, halting cars and the impact of feet on gravel. He opened his eyes just barely to see a stranger's face looming over him. More joined soon, all with shocked expressions, all speaking at the same time and way too quickly for Yamato to fully comprehend what was being said.

"Hey, are you alright? Jesus!"

"Someone stop those cars!"

"What happened?"

"That cab just pulled out in front!"

"Oh, God! Is he okay?"

"Someone call an ambulance!"

His patience wore out quickly listening to all the indistinguishable chatter. No one was really doing anything except crowding around him as ants would around a crumb. Yamato threw his helmet through a gap in the force field of people surrounding him and lifted his head. He pressed his gloved hands against the road and felt them tremble as he tried to push himself up. Over the several voices he could hear one ring out that little bit louder than the others. A man knelt down next to him and gently put a hand on his chest.

"Sir, don't move. You could have a head injury."

Yamato barely had the energy to shake his head in disagreement.

"I'm fine. Just help me up."

The hand pushed firmer down on his chest when he tried to knock it away. He looked dazedly up into the man's calm face.

"Stay down."

A new pain burst in Yamato's chest. Everything going on around him was feeling strangely familiar. The faces above him changed, the gravel beneath him smoothed out and the lights around him dimmed. He felt as though he were somewhere else; somewhere out of reality.

Yamato found himself complying with the man's orders without even thinking about it. He fell back slowly onto his elbows, feeling relief the more he allowed himself to relax. The hand on his chest moved to the back of his head to cushion it when he allowed himself to completely lie down.

"An ambulance is on its way. Just...keep still until someone can check you over. Has anyone got something we could use to elevate his head?"

"Take my coat."

The man above him forced Yamato into helplessness by not even allowing him to lift his head to place the folded coat beneath it. He made a strict hand motion when Yamato tried to lean forward on his own, and instead picked Yamato up by the back of the neck to place the coat as a pillow beneath him. With his neck at a raised angle he could now really feel the aches and damaged tissue where it had knocked against his helmet and the floor. He closed his eyes.

"Now stay still. Are you in any pain?"

Alternating with the sound of his pulse and underlying the many voices that surrounded him Yamato could hear the faint sound of sirens wailing in the distance. He was so distracted by the multitude of overbearing noises he could hardly understand that one of those voices was directed at him. He could barely hear his own mumbled words when he spoke. Questions where rushed and he struggled to realise which ones he should be answering.

"Just a bit."

"Did anyone catch that cab's number?"

"Are you having any trouble breathing?"

"No."

"Do you want me to get him some water?"

"Someone should move that bike."

"Can you see any blood?"

"What's your name?"

"Ishida Yamato."

In his daze he'd said his name in its Japanese form. From then on the man called him Ishida without realising that it was his surname, and it brought back a painful nostalgia. The whole situation did.

Paramedics and police arrived soon after and the chattering onlookers quietened once they were ushered away behind the police barrier. Witness statements were taken while the green suited paramedics asked him questions and carefully unzipped his leathers to check him for any damage. In order for the police to start clearing the area and redirecting traffic Yamato was ushered into the back of the parked ambulance for final treatment. He shouted his thanks to the stranger that had taken charge of the situation, and before he could climb into the ambulance he saw his damaged bike being pulled from the road and his guitar case that had a severe dent. No doubt the instrument inside was probably damaged as well.

He answered more questions from the paramedic and let the stranger's hands pull his head this way and that to check for damage and treat what wounds were obvious on him. He also gave a hectic report of the incident to the policeman that sat in the ambulance with them and, soon enough, the policeman left and the paramedic stepped back in relief.

"You're alright. No concussion. I don't think a trip to the hospital is going to be necessary. Do you have someone to take you home?"

Yamato folded his bandaged wrist into the emergency blanket that was draped over his shoulders. There was a waver in his voice when he spoke. The painkillers that they'd given him were making him sleepy and heavy. He could feel bits of gravel in his clothes. A scalding shower and a long, drug induced sleep were the only things on his mind while he leant against the wall of the ambulance.

"Yeah, but I was thinking of just getting a cab."

He mumbled and wiped a strand of sweaty hair out of his face.

"I don't think that's a good idea. You do still have a head injury, and it'd be better if you had someone to keep an eye on you."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Use the phone here."

The paramedic pulled out the emergency phone and handed it to Yamato who took it in his uninjured hand.

"Thanks."

He struggled to dial with a hand that he wasn't used to and struggled just as much to put the phone to his ear while his arms were weak and his neck hurt every time he moved it slightly.

"Ken Ichijouji."

"Hey, Ken. It's Yamato."

"What's up? I'm kind of in the middle of work."

"Yeah I know. Sorry for bothering you. What time do you clock off?"

"Whenever, really. I'm just trying to get as much done as I can. Why? Need something?"

"Yeah, a lift home would be good if you could leave a bit early. I got into a bit of an accident."

"What happened?"

"A cab threw me off my bike."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, the paramedics have patched me up and everyth-"

"Paramedics? I'm leaving the office now! Where are you?"

Yamato felt a bit guilty when the worry in Ken's voice made him smile.

---

A police officer had handed Yamato what was left of his wrecked belongings not too long ago. Next to him on the ambulance bench was his helmet which had a crack across the thick lens; proof that it really was the cushioned barrier that held him back from death. At his feet were his dented guitar case, which he was too frightened to open, and his cotton bag that had seemed to keep in pretty good condition despite being thrown ten feet across the road from the wreckage. Inside, his phone was dented but working and his music papers weren't any more crumpled or torn than they had been before, although both those papers and his lyric book were partially stained with blue ink that had bled from a snapped pen. All in all there was definite damage, but not enough to really upset him. The whole incident seemed a bit pathetic now that the worst was over. He didn't even sustain any serious injuries, but when he was lying on the road for those few short seconds before the pain hit him he'd thought that he'd died. It was just a bit embarrassing to have people kick up such a fuss about his crash when he probably would have been able to get back up and continue the journey home without too much trouble. A few scraped up belongings and a bump on the head shouldn't be enough to have traffic diverted.

The paramedic had left the ambulance once he'd realised that Yamato wasn't in a state to conduct any kind of social interaction. The blonde sat in silence at the edge of this seat, waiting for Ken's arrival, with a plastic card in his hand. He'd found it while he was inspecting his wallet for any damage.

It was his Japanese driver's licence. He had a new American licence specifically for his bike, so he hadn't bothered to find his old one until he was checking over each of the cards in his wallet for cracks. He'd been turning it over in his hand for a long time. Onlookers simply thought that his fascination with the object was a result of the painkillers. They didn't know what turmoil the man was suffering through in his silence.

At the sound of a familiar voice talking to the officer at the barriers Yamato looked up. Ken was being led under the florescent tape and escorted towards the ambulance where Yamato was sat. Seeing the newcomer, one of the paramedics approached Yamato to help him to stand and step onto the floor.

Ken's expression as he approached Yamato didn't seem nearly concerned as his voice had over the phone. In fact he looked almost like a mother storming towards a child that deserved to be scolded. Yamato sheepishly smirked and offered a pathetic wave.

"Hey, Ken."

The other man didn't return the greeting. Instead he folded his arms at the end of his journey towards the ambulance and straight away turned to address the paramedic.

"Any serious injuries?"

"Nope, he was damn lucky. There's some soft tissue damage in his neck, a bruised head, some cuts and scrapes scattered around and a minor sprain in his wrist, but other than that he's mainly just got some bruising and muscle strain around his sides and shoulders. Everything will heal fine with some bed rest and ice."

Ken shook his head in an exhausted fashion at the list he was given and raised his brow at Yamato.

"You and that stupid bike."

Yamato laughed through his nose and shrugged his shoulders with a tired but genuine smile that pulled Ken from his distress. He nearly let his mouth drop open in surprise. Ever since Yamato had received that call from Japan he had hardly smiled in at least a week. And now, after a near death experience, he was giggling like he'd just fallen off the swing instead of off his motorbike. Ken remembered to pay attention to what the paramedic was telling him and luckily managed to catch the important information.

"-advise that he go for a hospital check up in a few days just in case we missed anything. But he should be fine. Just keep an eye on him for his head injury."

"Thank you."

Ken nodded to the paramedic and circled around Yamato's belongings to pick them up. An inevitable fight was put up by Yamato who tried to snatch the dented guitar case before it could be picked up. But, one firm look from Ken made him back off. He was left with only his cracked helmet to carry to the car. He had just enough time to thank the paramedic before Ken took a hold of his sleeve with his free hand and began pulling him away, like a mother would do to a straying toddler.

"Do you need any painkillers?"

Ken asked and nodded to the policeman who pulled aside the tape to let them through. Yamato swung his helmet by its strap.

"I just need to get something for the bruising. Some Ibuprofen and a few of those heat packs will probably do the trick."

"We can get that on the way back. There should be somewhere still open."

Yamato's belongings were placed with futile delicacy into the boot of the car. Ken even unexpectedly opened the door for him, and when Yamato climbed in he felt his body completely sink into the leatherette seat. He sighed and lowered his head slowly against the headrest, feeling the cuts on his scalp protest the weight of his head. He didn't hear the slam of the car door, or notice when Ken got into the driver's seat. Before starting the car Ken silently rested his head against the steering wheel and Yamato gathered his energy to look at him. Ken's eyes were loosely closed and there was a strained expression on his face.

"You scared the living-...I had a heart attack! You and that stupid bike!"

"It wasn't the bike's fault. If I'd been in a car the same thing would have happened. It was just a stupid cabby that didn't bother to look in his mirrors."

Ken threw his head back off the steering wheel.

"Well if you were in a car you wouldn't have been as badly injured, if injured at all."

"In a car I wouldn't have been able to avoid hitting the cab straight on."

Silent seething occurred between the two over the disagreement. Keeping their eyes locked Ken turned the key in the ignition and brought the car to life. The vibrations of the car travelled all the way through Yamato's body like a shiver and forced him to break eye contact with Ken. Ken shook his head and turned his eyes to the road. He pulled out from the curb and unconsciously found himself repeatedly checking his rear mirror, not wanting to make the same mistake that the cab driver did.

He took the longer route back to their apartment and kept his eyes attentive for an open drug store. For a while he was content to drive in silence while Yamato rested in the seat next to him. But quickly his frustration at Yamato wore of, and his concern was unearthed. He wanted to be reassured that Yamato was alive. He desperately searched for something to say.

"What...What was it like?"

Yamato continued to keep his eyes closed and body relaxed. He smoothly exhaled with a small groan and tilted his head to the side towards Ken.

"Sudden."

"I'm guessing that means that you don't want to talk about it."

Yamato opened his eyes.

"It was just...it's too soon. I'm still a little shaken."

"I understand. I suppose it was a little insensitive of me to ask so soon after it happened."

Yamato felt a bit guilty for being so dismissive when Ken fell silent. He didn't mean to make him upset. But, although the crash wasn't particularly serious he didn't want to think back on the experience so soon after it had happened. He decided to try and distract both of them from the memory of his accident and simply spoke the first thing that came to mind.

"Ken?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I've decided to go to Japan."

Yamato felt heat rise to his cheeks when Ken looked at him with a small, teasing smile.

"You think you've decided?"

"Yeah...I mean...no, I've completely decided. I'm going to do it."

Ken laughed at the sweet uncertainty of Yamato.

"You must've hit your head pretty hard."

"I've had worse. I just needed a decent hit to the head to get me thinking clearly again."

"Is it going to be okay for you to leave all of a sudden? You haven't heard back from that job yet."

"They have my number, and I'll be back in time for the job if I get it. Besides I can't really go straight back to work right now. My guitar is wrecked and my wrist is injured. It'll cost more to hire a musician than it will to just take a few weeks off work."

"Listen, you've just come out of an accident. How about you rest up and think about this a bit more tomorrow when your head is clear?"

"You think I'm delirious?"

"No, I just think that this traumatic experience might be having an effect on your judgement. You don't want to run off and regret this decision later on, right?"

A lazy wave of Yamato's head constituted as some kind of nod in his exhausted state and he smiled brightly at Ken who took the opportunity at a set of traffic lights to look at him.

"Why have you got to be so sensible? You make me feel like a kid sometimes."

Ken had a strange expression on his face that made Yamato stop smiling and sit straight.

"What's wrong?"

"You have blood in your teeth."

"Huh?"

Ken didn't repeat himself. He knew Yamato had heard him the first time. Yamato hesitantly ran his tongue over his teeth. The metallic taste was certainly there, he just hadn't noticed it before. When he reached his back few teeth he felt a tug and an arrow of pain shot through his jaw and down into his neck. He grabbed his mouth and lurched forward.

"Ah, fuck. I think I cracked my back tooth."

"Hold on, there's a store here. Let me pull over and I'll take a look at it."

Yamato delicately attempted to feel his tooth through his cheek, feeling a bit of a shameful thrill when he inflicted the sharp pain onto himself again. Ken gently pulled up next to the one lit store left on the street and turned on the overhead light before turning off the engine. He urged Yamato to lean over the gear box.

"Tilt your head back. Let me see."

Ken held one hand under Yamato's chin and the other on his neck, encouraging him to open his mouth. Yamato kept his gaze on the ceiling to avoid making the situation any more awkward. Ken had reverted to his serious self; all business and focusing on finding the cracked tooth with the same dedication that he filed his paperwork. Ken delicately pressed his fingers into Yamato's head to tilt it to a better angle beneath the light.

"Yep, it's cracked. Right down the middle. You're going to need to either try pulling it out tonight or book a dentist appointment."

He gently closed Yamato's mouth for him and ran a final few fingers through the moist blond hair that hung over his face. Yamato licked his dried lips and moved back into his seat away from the warmth of Ken's hands. He palmed his cheek and tried to find a comfortable jaw position for his broken tooth. He was attentive to his jaw movements when he spoke.

"I'm not good with gore like that. I'll just get it taken out tomorrow. I don't know how I didn't notice it at first. It fucking stings like a bitch."

"Well your mouth doesn't hurt enough to stop your swearing, so I reckon it'll be fine to leave it for tonight. I'll just get your painkillers."

Smiling, Ken turned off the light and reached into the backseat for his bag. Yamato closed his eyes again and crossed his arms to get more comfortable.

"Thanks Ken. I'm sorry for having you run around after me like this. I really appreciate it."

"What did you expect me to do? Force you to walk home?"

Yamato smiled in his sleepy daze and carefully tucked his head into his shoulder. He listened as Ken opened the door and got out.

"I'll be five minutes."

"Mmmkay."

The door was shut and a wave of air hit Yamato's face. He nuzzled his cheek into the material over his shoulder and tucked his hands under his arms to retain some warmth. He fell asleep before Ken could get back.

---

Hikari twisted her phone in her hands and paced an oval in front of the closed apartment door. She wanted to try banging on the door again, but after the first half an hour of pounding her fists and shouting through the wood she knew that no one on the other side would answer to her. Instead she waited, wearing down her plastic soles and marking scratches into her phone with her ring.

"Kari!"

She nearly dropped her phone and spun on her toes to see two faces that relieved her of a lonely burden. She dashed forward and threw her arms around Takeru's neck, expelling her worry into his shoulder.

"Oh, thank Gods you came! He won't answer his phone. I've been knocking for an hour. It's been two weeks since I've heard anything!"

"Is he out maybe?"

"I don't know. But I don't want to risk it. What if..."

She didn't dare to go on at the thought that came to her. Takeru stroked her hair and held her waist while she shuddered against. Daisuke stood back and allowed the two to comfort each other.

"I'll go get the maintenance guy. He'll have a key. Just stay here and keep calling him."

He retreated back down the stairs to the Landlord's office while Takeru and Hikari remained in a tight embrace. When she gathered herself Hikari pulled out of his arms, but Takeru could see that she wasn't her usual, collected self. There was still a tightness in her neck that exposed the muscles that she held taut. He took a step to her and spoke soft.

"Kari, it's going to be okay."

"But what if it isn't? I wasn't there last time and now...and now...I don't want to-."

Takeru put a stop to her sentence with a light hand on her shoulder. She leant back into his chest and took a deep breath, exhaling the memory, the pain, and the overwhelming fear. Takeru placed his hand over hers that still clutched to her phone.

"Keep calling him."

After she nodded her head he kissed her still cheek and approached the apartment door. He pounded his fist against it with strength to make the door rattle in its hold. Hikari desperately held her phone to her ear and listened once again to the answer phone message.

"Taichi! Are you in there? It's Takeru! Taichi!"

He continued to bang on the door while Hikari redialled a different number. This continued for a good ten minutes. Takeru would shout and kick at the door while Hikari called every number she could think of that might lead to Taichi. When Daisuke arrived with the Landlord both stopped what they were doing to approach them. The large man reached for his keys and turned to Hikari.

"What's going on?"

"Taichi's not answering the door or his phone. No one's been able to reach him for a while and we just want to get inside to see if he's okay."

"At least you didn't break the door down like last time."

He purposely rolled his eyes towards Daisuke who stood behind him. Daisuke bashfully scratched the back of his neck and shrugged his shoulders. The Landlord unclipped the ring of keys from his belt and nudged Takeru away from the door.

"Stand aside."

Poising the keys over the lock he tapped on the door and leaned in.

"Yagami-San, if you're in there, I'm unlocking the door."

Hikari brightened with hope when she heard rustling from the other side of the door. The landlord took his time unlocking the door and opening it. As soon as he stepped aside to let them in Hikari rushed to the living room with a shout.

"Taichi? Taichi! Are you here?"

She stepped back in surprise once she reached the entrance, as though there was a closed door in her way. Takeru and Daisuke didn't see why until they were right next to her. A half naked woman was rushing to clothe herself before them. A dark waterfall of smeared eye makeup was patched down her face and she wobbled like a fresh baby deer on her stick like legs. Spotting them at the door she simply grabbed the rest of her things and splayed them over her torso while she carried them to cover herself up. She pushed past them with a muttered apology, and all stared at her until she'd turned to dash down the hallway to exit the complex. They all exchanged strange expressions before further entering into the apartment. Hikari called out again.

"Are you here, Taichi?"

In reply she heard several thuds coming from the bedroom. After seeing the state of the woman she stepped aside to allow one of the present males to go and investigate the noise. Daisuke was the one to step in front. He didn't bother to knock and swung open the already opened door. The bedroom was in pitch black. The blinds were closed and the curtains were drawn over them. All that could be deciphered in the darkness was a bulk beneath the covers. Daisuke slammed his hand against the light switch next to him and a flickering light revealed what should have been a bedroom. It looked more like the aftermath of a tornado in the state that it was in. Dirty clothes hung over nearly every surface, empty bottles and cans were gathered in small islands across the patchy carpet and still smoking cigarettes were overflowing from several ashtrays and mugs. The bulk amongst the bed sheets rolled over, and a tanned arm became exposed.

"What the fuck?"

Daisuke grabbed an empty can from the desk next to him and threw it at Taichi.

"You asshole, you've been here the whole time?"

Taichi sat up in the bed. He was almost as much of a mess as his room. He scratched at the stubble on his jaw and pushed the cover away from his naked chest, leaving several boldly red love bites to greet the cold air of his bedroom.

"Yeah, I've been sleeping. How did you get in?"

"We got the key from the landlord. What the fuck is wrong with you? Kari was worried sick! She's been calling and banging on the door for an hour at least. Not to mention all of the other times she tried to get in touch with you in the past week."

Taichi sighed and fell back onto the bed.

"Well, I'm sorry I didn't hear. But you can now see that I'm alive, and very tired. So please turn off the light on your way out."

Daisuke ignored him and kicked every pile of cans in his way until he reached the bed. Taichi winced at the cold when his covers were ripped off of him.

"We're not going to just leave you, Taichi. Like it or not, we're staying in your life."

"Whatever. At least leave me alone to sleep."

Taichi hid his face under his pillow and Daisuke gave up on his desire to punish him. He headed back to the living room where the others were waiting and said before closing the door.

"If you don't answer your phone tomorrow you're going to find yourself with three more room mates."

He slammed the door shut, leaving the light on to especially annoy Taichi. It didn't work though. After the tumbler of whiskey he'd had not too long ago he barely even realised that light was still on as he fell back to sleep.

---

The tapping was persistent. Ken looked over his book for a third time. Yamato had been on that damn laptop for a good half hour, tapping away at the keys, looking at hotel lists in Tokyo and just generally distracting Ken from enjoying his book. Even Butter who was attempting to nap against Yamato's hip was having trouble getting settled with the annoying noise in the background. Every minute or so she would squirm in the small space she occupied and ran her claws over Yamato's jeans as if to tell him to be quiet. Ken bit his gum and closed the book onto his lap. Yamato hadn't even noticed that he was being stared at.

"You're seriously doing this, aren't you?"

"Yep."

"But...your head should be better by now. I thought you would have come to your senses."

"I've been taking painkillers, not crack. I know what I'm doing."

"No, I'm not trying to undermine your decision or anything. It's just that...you've always shown a sense of reluctance to return home and I didn't think that it would just disappear all of a sudden."

Yamato sighed and stilled his hands over the laptop keyboard. He looked at the lit screen in front of him, but he didn't see it. He was too busy stomping down the nerves that had reacted enthusiastically to Ken's words.

"I know, but I promised I'd go; to myself and to Ms Watanabe, I've booked my flight, I've found my passport. All that's left to do is book is the hotel. I was going to have to go back sooner or later."

It sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than Ken. To punctuate his point he dropped his thumb onto the return key, confirming his booking for a room in a Tokyo hotel. Once the screen flashed with the words 'Your booking has been confirmed' he closed his laptop and settled back into the seat. There was no turning back any more. He had a week left to panic, but for now he wanted to savour his free time with Ken. Weekends like this were great, where they could just sit in each other's company with a bit of background noise from the television.

Yamato leant back into the sofa and took a victory sip from his beer can. With Yamato no longer distracted, Ken no longer found any interest in finishing his book and so threw it onto the coffee table, not caring to mark his page.

"So, are you coming back for New year?"

"I should be. If there are no complications then I'll be on my way back on the 29th. But, I bought a flexible ticket just in case. I seem to attract so much drama I might as well be prepared."

"So, are you going to visit your family while you're there? You have a little brother, right?"

Yamato hissed through his teeth and took another sip of beer before putting the can back on its coaster. He knew that this time would come eventually. He hadn't told Ken anything about his past other than the basics. He told him that he'd come from Japan and that he had a family. But he had always managed to stray from the subject of why he was in America, or why he hadn't cared to visit his home. At least now was a better time than ever to talk about the problems he'd had. It might be good to have a bit of support from a friend who knew what had been going on.

He shook his head to disorient the sources of the voices in his head that tried to make him doubt himself.

"I don't think so. I left on bad terms with them. I don't imagine I'd be given a particularly warm welcome if I just showed up for a visit."

"Did you fight with them or something?"

"I kind of ran away."

"A-As in-"

"As in I decided to leave about an hour before I actually left and didn't tell anyone about it. I just packed what I could and got the hell out of there."

Ken bit his lip and his whole body tensed up. He hadn't known. It hurt to think that he hadn't known. He and Yamato had known each other for three years now and yet it was only when a problem arose that Yamato felt able to tell him. His thought process continued on with such painful realisations. He'd been blankly staring into Yamato's calm expression for a few silent seconds before he could only say,

"I'm sorry."

Yamato smiled. Not bitterly or sarcastically for a nice change. He hadn't even done it on purpose. It was nothing but a soft curve of his lips, light enough to reveal only the tips of his teeth. It caught Ken off guard completely, just like the smile after the accident. It was such an honest gesture that it brightened his whole face.

"You shouldn't be sorry. I still stick by it being a good decision and I'm glad I came here. Of course, if I could change anything I would have waited until I was sober to go through with it. I woke up very confused the next day."

The light humour made Ken's shoulders release from their tensed, locked position and they were free to move as he chuckled.

"I can imagine. I don't think I would be as calm as you."

"No, but you'd be smart enough not to do it in the first place."

They laughed lightly in unison, Ken unconsciously leaning over to be closer to Yamato. Butter wasn't disturbed by the new weight next to her and instead relished in the new source of warmth that seemed to complete her temporary bed. She nuzzled her head into Yamato's thigh and tucked her nose beneath her paw. The sofa now rumbled from not only the laughter of the two men but also the cat that purred while she rested.

Ken indulged himself with a sip from Yamato's beer can and found no protest from the other man. He hadn't really had any alcohol since his working hours increased and he found that to make the one sip of beer taste smoother and more refreshing than he remembered it to be. He took a second quick gulp before placing it back down and turning to Yamato. He had been smiling the whole time and took his own drink from the can once it had been placed back down, raising his brow and keeping his eyes open at Ken while he tipped his head back.

They sat in comforting quiet for a while after that. Ken didn't care to turn back to his book and Yamato wasn't in the mood to turn on the television. He wasn't intending on watching it anyway, so it would have just counted as obnoxious background noise. He chose to run his fingers down Butter's back and think only about the comfort of the sofa and the feel of her coarse fur.

"Are you sure you don't want me coming with you?"

Ken spoke up.

"If you keep asking me I might take you up on that offer."

"I don't mind. If you want me there then I'll go."

Yamato sighed at Ken's generosity. It was becoming an unfair temptation. Of course he would have loved his friend there to support him and stop him from drinking too much at the funeral. But he knew what it felt like to be surrounded by millions of voices that he didn't understand. Ken only knew a few words of Japanese even though he was a hypothetical sponge when it came to absorbing information, and Yamato had no intention of making his friend wait around awkwardly and have a translator to talk every word through.

"You can't just walk away from your job, and I don't want to drag you across so many hundreds of miles of ocean to a place where you don't know the language. I'll be fine. I'll call you every day if you want me to."

"Alright then."

He spoke in a disheartened tone and stroked a hand along his neck.

"I'm sorry, Ken. Do you really want to go? I just don't want you going to such an effort just for the sake of being sympathetic."

"No, no. It's not that. It's just that it's going to be a bit miserable around here without you, and after that bike scare I'll be worrying about you."

Ken's bashful smirk flourished to become a smile.

"Plus I'll have to start cooking for myself again. Since you've been spoiling me my skills are probably a little rusty. Ugh, and I'll have no excuse to avoid my family this Christmas."

"I'm sorry about Christmas. We can celebrate it when I get back. I'll cook you the whole thing and bring you a ton of souvenirs. I'll even make that gross eggy drink you like so much."

"It's called eggnog, and that'd be nice. I'll look forward to it."

Attention was drawn away from the subject just as the conversation ended when Butter found herself unsatisfied with her warm pocket between the two men and clambered onto Yamato's lap. Yamato wrapped his arm around her and gave her his finger to nibble and bat at.

"Are you going to be alright looking after Butter? I know she's a bit of a handful. I could leave her with someone else if it's going to be too much trouble."

"Don't worry about it. All I've got to do is fill her bowls and clean her box. Easiest job I've ever done."

"You know she's an attention whore too, right? She's going to be crawling all over you and sleeping on your face and sneaking up on you when you're in the bathroom."

"She'll keep me company."

Yamato cheekily turned himself to Ken and picked up Butter like a doll to take control of her little paws. Uncaring of her master's games she simply lay in his hold and allowed him to manipulate her body.

"So, are you going to admit that she's your cat, too?"

He asked in a sly tone and used Butter's paw to point at Ken who had folded his arms. Ken rolled his eyes and batted away the auburn limb directed at him.

"You're the one that picked her out and bought everything for her."

"But you help pay for her food."

"She sleeps with you."

"She snuggles up on the sofa with you."

"The pet licence is in your name."

"And the address on her tag is ours. Just admit it. Look at her little face."

He rubbed his cheek against her fur covered one and slyly smiled at Ken who struggled to keep a straight face.

He reached his hand forward, seeming to have the intention of petting the young cat, but quickly moved his hand to destroy the structure of the blonde hair that Yamato had perfectly styled. Yamato spluttered over his disbelief and swatted the pale hand away, shielding his hair with his forearms when Ken reached around his block.

"Ah, you bastard! How could you?"

"Now, Yamato, there's no need for foul language."

Ken laughed and leaned back into his place in the sofa. Yamato desperately combed his fingers through his hair in order to straighten it out. The wax that he had used to style it now only served to make the new knots more difficult to untangle. He left it in the mess that it was and crossed his arms. He didn't realise when he'd dropped Butter, but as soon as his hands around her had relaxed she'd bounced off to escape the boisterous games of her roommates. She was in a lazy mood and so chose to escape to Yamato's bedroom to sleep in his bed while she had the chance.

Yamato and Ken continued to joke together late into the evening. There was after all only seven evenings left to spend time together while Ken still had work during the day, so they both sacrificed sleep to be sure not to waste any moment. Ken would go to work yawning the next day and blame it on Yamato who was free to sleep in, but he wouldn't regret any of those last few late nights they shared while they had the chance.

---

Seven days went by without struggle and swiftly. In the hours where night merged into morning the apartment was dark and almost silent. Yamato levelled out the straps on his rucksack. He knew that he definitely hadn't pack enough clothes but he didn't have any other bags to use. He just prayed to God that the hotel offered a laundry service since he didn't think to check online. If not then he was in store for another half naked trip to the Laundromat like he used to do.

He had one other bag balanced on his shoulder holding what needed to be easily accessed. It was half empty but still the weight threw off his balance and he ended up almost knocking over a lamp on his way to the door. He'd caught it just barely with his free hand and held still for a few seconds to check that he hadn't woken up Ken. No doors opened and no angry mumbles were heard, so he slid it carefully back onto the table and released a caged breath.

When it was balanced and sturdy he turned to look at the apartment for a final time. He kept thinking about how much he wanted to just drop his bags and stay here; pretend that anywhere else didn't exist. But there was something that tugged at him and forced him to turn away towards the door. It lifted his hand like a puppet's on a string to land on the door handle, and it gripped his chin to stop him looking back as he closed the door behind him. He was now officially on his way...home...if that was what he could still call it.

Standing in the dead hallway in thought he could hear a light scratching on the door behind him. He must've woken up Butter at some point during his exit. He hadn't hugged her goodbye and other than a brief embrace the night before he hadn't properly said goodbye to Ken either. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but he kept putting it off in the hopes that he would have time and Ken being the bashful type would never take initiative when it came to sentimentality. He'd just have to remember to apologise over the phone when he arrived at his hotel and maybe bring back something for Butter to chew on.

There were two weeks left until Christmas and then only four days after that until he should be heading back. The only reason he'd decided to leave so early in December was because he didn't want to be in America when Christmas took full effect. In previous years he'd never been able to leave the apartment without some blaring reminder of how alone he was for the holiday. There were mothers taking their children to go Christmas shopping, restaurants booked to the pavement with giggling couples and boisterous families, Christmas songs jumping from radio to store radio about loved ones and Christmas spirit. It was a painful time that usually was only remedied by Ken's company and a bottle of whiskey on Christmas day. But this year he knew that he couldn't spend Christmas with Ken, so he decided to escape while he could to avoid the Christmas season at its worst. In Japan he could easily pretend that it was any old day in winter and live out the season in bed with room service to bring food right to him. It probably didn't sound as sad in his head as it would out loud.

He gave a final shift of the straps that were beginning to dig into his shoulders already and set his way towards the elevator instead of the stairs like usual. The last step to have officially left was gathering the will power to press the 'G' button and wait for the doors to close.

Inside the apartment that was now lacking one boarder, the cat that was scratching at the front door and whining softly was lifted up by a pale set of hands and tucked into the silk of a half buttoned pyjama shirt. Ken mimicked what Butter had been previously doing by flatly laying his palm on the wood of the door with a lonely sigh. It was the least he could do to stop himself from rushing out of the apartment to chase the missing piece of the home. He leant his cheek against the soft head that nuzzled his neck.

"Looks like it's just you and me for a while."

He quietly muttered. He delicately ran his hand down the rough surface in front of him until his fingers slid away to rest at his side. The place had been almost silent while Yamato was still there but now it had slipped from the brink that it had balanced on, leaving Ken and Butter in a void absent of all existence outside of each other. It would probably continue to be that way until Yamato returned. Ken knew that he could function without air for three minutes, but he did not want to test how long he could function without Yamato. Like air, Yamato was sorely missed after only being gone a minute.

---

[1] this is supposed to be the American Willis, but I don't know his surname. Does he even have one? Tell me if anyone knows. I kind of gave him a Swiss surname because I was feeling that there wasn't enough ethnic diversity.

[2] the song is 'Black Magic Woman' by Carlos Santana, one of my favourite guitarists ever

[3] General Japanese curses. You get the idea what he's trying to say.

---

OH MY GOD! FINALLY DONE! Another chapter complete and it's about damn time!

I've had a very hectic few months, so I'm sorry for a late update. I got Scarlet Fever which put me out of commission for a few weeks, I got a waitressing job because being a broke student is not as fun as it's made out to be, I got a pretty solid social life, I joined an art society, I started a clothes making course...just...basically lots of interesting things going on that all prevented me from keeping up with my writing schedule. I also got distracted by another fiction that I've started. It touches on a lot of topics that are quite personal to me, so I found myself being more interested. I actually got the inspiration while I was doing research for this fic so there are some overlapping similarities. I've written about five chapters for it so far, so I'll probably keep working on it while I'm finishing up the next chapter for this fic. I can't wait to post it. I've got about 19,000 words in dialogue alone!

I was also stuck on this chapter for a long time simply because I couldn't decide what song Yamato should play. And then I proved that I am benefitting from a social life when I went to another gig-type-thing with some friends and heard a Santana cover. It was one of those music experiences where you actually feel like you're on some kind of high when you listen to the music. It was an amateur singer and I wish I could remember her damn name so I could promote her! But, alas, I'm practically going senile already.

I hope you like this chapter. Although it might not be up to my usual standard of writing I think it turned out alright. Let me know what you think. And now, all the introduction type thingies are out of the way and I can start writing some serious and well needed drama! Yamato's finally returning to Japan and there are lots of troubles waiting for him there ;). I hope it turns out as great as it seems in my head.

Hope to hear from you all.

Bed. Of. Nails. And. Sandpaper